Dear Ada
by Horsegirl01
Summary: Written for the March Teitho contest. Elfling Legolas runs away from home and finds out what it's like to get sick.


Written for the Teitho March contest. (Didn't place, but it was fun to write.) As I am working hard to improve my writing, any suggestions/comments/tips are greatly appreciated! Please review!

**Dear Ada**

_Dear Ada,_

_I am sorry I have been such a bad elfling. I do not understand why I am so bad. I try really hard to be a good elfling. I don't like to make you sad or mad, and I'm sorry I made you so mad that you had to hit me. I don't know how to be the good elfling you need me to be, cause I try to do everything right and I am still bad. I have decided that it would be better for you if I leave. That way you won't have to get sad and upset anymore, cause I won't be there to be bad all the time._

_I wish I could be a good elfling. I'm sorry I disapointed you, and I will miss you very much._

_I love you Ada. I hope you can be happy now._

_Love,_

_Legolas_

Thranduil crushed the childishly-scrawled note into a tight ball, the knuckles of his hands so tight that they matched the white of the paper. Standing there in his child's room where he had found the paper lying on the bedtable, his arms hung loosely against his stiffened body and his head bowed in a mixture of indeterminate rage and anguish, long, blonde hair swinging forward to cover his high cheekbones and adeptly hiding a lone tear that escaped from the grim face.

'What have I done?' thought the king, guilt shining in the blue eyes as he raised his head finally and let his gaze brush over the familiarity of his child's room. So many memories lay in this room—some good, some sad, and a few filled with much anger of late, too much anger. Mostly they were memories filled with laughter and love, though. The bright smile of a beautiful little face and the tinkling laughter of a beautifully-spirited elfling child had rung out numerous times in the large chamber, filling Thranduil's otherwise heavily-laden days with a spark of brightness and joy—joy that was now missing in a huge way, leaving a giant hole in the icy king's heart.

Thranduil was a good king, well-loved among the inhabitants of Mirkwood. The recent untimely demise of his beloved lady wife, however, had torn his soul asunder, leaving his very being ensconced in a firm façade of ice that enabled him to get through each day without showing his grief to any others. It was his deeply-rooted belief that it was this icy façade that kept his people safe, both from having to endure the sadness of seeing him in a state of grief and from the risk of having them meet his anger. It had been nearly impossible for the unhappy king to maintain control over this façade in front of his little son, however, for the child's resemblance to Thranduil's dead wife was uncanny and caused a shooting pain to spread through his fading body each time he laid eyes on the beautiful child. Thus, the times that had once been so special to both of them, were now simply a reminder of his loss—a reminder that he could not bear.

It was this that had made Thranduil show too much anger towards the child of late. He had begun to punish the little elfling over every tiny infraction, even those that the child did not purposely do or did not understand how to change. He had noticed a subtle shift in the elfling's behavior these past few weeks, but no matter what he noticed, he did not seem to be able to help himself when he was around the tiny elfling.

Yesterday, after a long and stressful day of difficult trade negotiations and constant reminders about his lady wife's death by the visiting men, the overly-tired king had finally taken his anger a step too far, swatting his tiny child on the seat when he accidentally spilled his drink in Thranduil's office. Legolas had looked up at him with so much hurt and shock in his huge, blue eyes that the king had been forced to turn away from the child, waving a shaking hand dismissively and clutching the edge of his desk in an attempt to control his anger as he heard soft, swift little footsteps run out of the room, a tiny sob lingering in the cool breeze coming in from the window as the door clicked shut behind the hasty retreat of a forlorn and miserable elfling.

Thranduil had realized instantly that he had crossed the line, for elves did not hit their children—ever. It just simply wasn't done. Little elflings were too pure and sensitive to endure a loved one—and a parent at that—hitting them. It tore apart the bond they shared with a parent, and was rumored to send them into a grief akin to fading. Thranduil, too afraid to confront the elfling and apologize because he did not want the reminder of his beloved wife staring him in the face, told himself instead that it was just a tiny swat, not hard enough to do any real damage to the child's fea. He convinced himself that Legolas knew he had been bad, and that he would accept the punishment as such. He spent many hours in a restless tossing and turning on his bed that night convincing himself of that fact—many hours in which a lonely and scared elfling pondered his regrettable fate and wondered how often his Ada would hit him now that he had started this as a punishment.

Before the sun rose, Thranduil was already awake and getting hastily dressed from the measly minutes of restless sleep he'd managed to grab. He had a little elfling to make amends with this morning, he'd decided, and he wanted to be prepared early so that he could spend a few moments with his son before being called to council meetings. The tired father was unable to get the sight of those sad, anguished blue eyes out of his mind, and he knew he must overcome his grief long enough to speak with his son and make sure he was all right. After dressing, he slipped silently out of his room and across the hall to his child's chambers, cracking open the door and easing his way inside as quietly as possible. It was early still, and he did not wish to wake Legolas quite yet, merely be ready to talk to him when he did awake. Treading softly through the sitting area that was surprisingly bereft of any toys, he went through the door into the sleeping area and walked over to the large bed that belonged to his elfling.

Thranduil came to an immediate stop when he saw the carefully made-up bed that was completely empty of any elflings. His face turning a pale shade of white, he began to dart about the room, looking in every corner for his wayward child. When he spied no sign of him, he searched more frantically through the sitting area, the bathing chambers, and then the balcony outside the bedroom, to no avail.  
"Legolas!" he called several times, his voice getting louder with each yell. "Legolas, ion nin! Where are you? It is time to come out now! Ada is here."

When he received no response, he tried again. "Legolas…saes…Ada is sorry, ion nin. I wish to speak to you and make amends. Please come out, my little elfling." His head drooped then, his hands firmly clenched at his sides as he realized there was no elfling within hearing range of his calls. He made a more meticulous search of the airy room, seeking any clues that might tell where his little one had gone. It was then that his eyes drifted across the note lying spread out on the bedtable, kept in place by the nightly glass of water. The shaky king snatched the note up, not even noticing when the glass fell and shattered on the floor, the noise echoing throughout the large chambers and the water trickling towards the king's boots in a careless manner. Thranduil did not see or hear—he knew nothing but the note that he read and the pitiful words scrawled upon it…words that told him just what a grave mistake he had made the previous day.

Legolas lay in his bed for quite some time after Thranduil had lost his temper with him, curled up in a tiny ball and sobbing his little heart out. 'Ada hit me,' he thought sadly to himself. 'Ada does not love me anymore. He is always angry at me, and I cannot please him no matter how hard I try.' He choked on a sob, squeezing his arms tightly about his middle as his chest tightened in grief. The little elfling had no concept of elven grief, and thus could not know that he was in a very precarious state right now. He simply rocked in anguish and cried out his neglected feelings, feeling very lonely and unloved, and desperately missing his Naneth. Finally, his tears were spent and the child began to think more reasonably on what he should do. 'I should leave,' the tiny elf finally decided. 'I only make everyone unhappy. Ada cannot even bear to look at me anymore. If I leave, then everyone can be happy again.' He bit his lip, stifling another sob as he got up and went over to his wardrobe closet to draw out a little pack. He quickly stuffed some clothes and a couple of blankets inside the pack, then got his just-his-size weapons and placed the knives on his belt, tying the tiny quiver over his shoulder and setting the bow thereupon as well.

Lastly, the little elf grabbed his stuffed horse, Snowflake, off the bed, clutching him tightly to his chest. He was about to step onto the balcony when he caught himself, a small hand flinging up to cover his mouth in shock as he realized he had not left a note! Surely Ada would get even more angry if he just disappeared with no explanation! He ran over to his desk and grabbed a parchment and quiver, scribbling out a few quick paragraphs, hesitating over a few of the more difficult words that he was unsure of. Finally satisfied with his note, he placed it under the glass of water on his bedtable so the soft breeze wouldn't blow it away. Sure now that he had done everything that the adults would think he needed to, the little elf walked once more to the balcony, turning at the edge to give one last look around, his little face filled with unhappiness and silent tears running down his cheeks. Clutching his little horse more tightly, he drew a shaky breath and gathered his courage, jumping into the branches of the great oak beside his balcony and setting off into the forest through the trees to make his own path in the world, somewhere far away where he would not bring so much unhappiness to his loved ones.

Legolas, one with the trees, made good time through the treetops as he focused on traveling as far from the palace as he could get. It had been an easy matter to sneak past the patrols that guarded the entrance to the king's stronghold, for the trees abetted him in whatever he asked them to do, and he could easily jump the distance from one tree behind the wall to another tree beyond it. Then he was free—free from the disgusted stares he had been getting from everyone, free from his father's anger, free from having to worry over the bad things he did, and free from causing everyone anger and upsetting their day. The little elfling prince stopped for a moment to catch his breath, his tiny chest heaving with lonely sobs and the pain that was becoming more frequent now. 'I miss Nana,' he thought, his fair little face stained with sadness and a deeply inset grief as he held tightly onto a thin branch for balance and risked one last longing look back towards the palace. Everyone might hate him now that Nana was dead, but he still loved everyone there and would miss them dearly, especially his Ada—'Even though he hit me,' thought the elfling with a sad frown. He sighed then. What was would remain, or so he believed. Firmly convinced that he was doing the best thing for everyone, he set out once more deeper into the forest, ignoring the warning whispers of the trees that had begun to realize the danger in the elfling traveling alone in the forest.

After a few more hours of travel, it began to rain, a hard, fierce rain that soaked through to the bone, even under cover of the trees. Legolas was finally forced by the rain and sheer exhaustion to stop for the night and seek some form of shelter. Knowing it would not be any drier or safer on the ground, he found a nice strong tree that eagerly agreed to shelter the little elf for the night. Seeking out a nice, round area about midway up the tree, the child curled up into as small of a ball as he could and the tree covered him with branches the best it could. Despite this aid and the one small blanket that the elfling had pulled out of his pack to cover himself with, the rain still made it through to further soak the elfling, and he was already soaked from his travels. He began to shiver so fiercely that he nearly fell from the tree, and would have had not the tree desperately caught him with one of its branches. He patted the large tree on the trunk as he curled up more securely and the tree covered him with branches to keep him from falling again. "H-hannon le…" he whispered weakly, continuing to shiver. He finally drifted off into an unsettled sleep, cold, wet, hungry, and lonelier than he could ever remember being. His last thoughts before an exhausted sleep claimed him were ones of his Nana, and wondering if he would fade to go see her soon. Perhaps she would not be angry with him or hate him. She had always loved him.

In the meantime, back at the palace…the king was in the process of destroying everything within sight in his rage as he stormed through barking orders at any elf that was unfortunate enough to come across his path. After his initial reaction of guilt and self-blame when he realized his elfling had run away, anger had once more set in as he reminded himself that the child should have known better than to run away. Hardening his heart against the tiny elf once more, he was determined to find the little prince and instill a more permanent lesson in him, no matter what it took. Still deeply instilled in his grief, the panic he felt over his only child being alone in the dark and evil-filled forest was enough to make him lose all reason. "Fetch the border guards and have the horses prepared! We go to find my miscreant son!" he yelled at the unlucky Galion in the hall when he saw him come out of one of the side rooms. Galion, seeing the dark purple in his king's face, easily recognized the fearsome mood of his old friend and respected king, and merely pursed his lips together and ran to do his bidding. He would try to calm him during the search in order to spare the little elfling that he dearly loved, but he knew the king could not be reasoned with right now.

It was mere minutes when both the guard and horses were ready and waiting in the courtyard, where Thranduil joined them after grabbing his weapons and dressing in hunting wear. His face was so grim that none dared approach him, and the readied patrol simply sat quietly on their mounts, waiting for the king's orders. Galion was already seated on his own mount, holding the reins of the king's horse. He assessed his friend as Thranduil swung up almost harshly onto his horse, grabbing the reins out of Galion's hands without so much as a 'thank you' or nod of recognition. 'This does not bode well for the elfling,' thought Galion dismally as he carefully schooled his face into a blank mask. Still not speaking, the enraged king merely held up a hand, then jerked it down sharply in the signal to move out, and the entire patrol left in a thunder of hooves.

The Mirkwood patrol spent many hours searching unrelentingly for any sign of a tiny elfling without much success. Galion, who had excellent tracking skills, finally found one lone mussed leaf on the ground where the child had apparently left the cover of the trees in search of something—perhaps food, since the kindly aide had not been able to determine if the child had taken any with him or not. Almost immediately after he found the leaf, however, the heavens opened up and the rains came down, washing away any other potential trail and, if possible, causing the king's face to grow even darker in anger. Galion sighed from where he was perched on the ground still searching for clues. He shook the water out of his hair and mounted once more. "My Lord, I fear this will be hopeless unless we can get the trees to aid us. We have not yet tried that."

"Because they will NOT help us when it comes to the elfling!" Thranduil snapped irritably. "You know he has them all charmed, Galion, and I'm sure he has squeezed some foolish promise of discretion from them."

"Perhaps…" said Galion with a frown, looking up at the waving oak branches right above them. The trees seemed anxious about something, and had been acting so for more than an hour. He had tried to get Thranduil to stop and allow him some time to converse with them, but the king was determined to think it was a waste of time. Galion was not so sure. If the elfling was hurt, or even if the trees were merely worried about him, Galion was sure that the trees would try to seek help for him. Yet, he could not argue with king, especially not in front of the patrol. He would have to wait until they set up camp, if they ever did!

Legolas cried out, waking with a jerk that almost sent him tumbling through the tightly enfolded branches covering him. He had been reliving his Naneth's death in a dream, and in the dream his Ada had come and slapped him as he lay in the clearing beside his dead Naneth. "How could you let her die, Legolas?" the dream Thranduil had screamed at the injured child. "This is all your fault! I never want to see you again!" A tear slipped down the pale cheek as the child sniffled woefully in remembrance. If only it _were_ just a dream, but he knew that Ada really hated him for Nana's death, as did everyone else in Mirkwood, for they always looked at him so angrily, and Ada had hit him. Ada really _didn't_ want him! He curled up into a tighter ball and sobbed his little heart out, the tree swaying anxiously around him as it attempted to comfort him. It was still raining, and the little elf was still entirely soaked. The cold was making his bones ache, and his little face was beginning to feel hot and flushed as he continued to shiver through the sobs that wracked his thin body. He finally drifted back into another uneasy sleep as the flustered tree resorted to singing a soft song to try to soothe the hurting elfling.

Legolas' sleep was uneasy, and from time to time he would call out. "Naneth! No!...saes Naneth…don't leave me…" cried the weak little voice as the child tossed and turned precariously on the thick tree trunk. Enfolding its branches just a little more tightly around the child, the tree whispered to its neighbors and friends. They conversed for several minutes while the child continued to sleep, trying to decide what to do about the obviously sick elfling.

"We need to send a message to the king," said the tree holding the little elf. "He needs to be with his people to get better."

"Nay…" cried his friend beside him. "The elfling sought shelter and safety from us for a reason. If we fetch his people, he will feel betrayed."

"Better betrayed than dead!" shouted another tree angrily. "It is not natural for a child to sleep in this way. He is fading, and you know it. We have all felt it."

"Perhaps we should allow him the choice he made," suggested another faint voice hesitantly. "If this is to be his end, let him make it where he chooses, beside the forest that loves him so."

"How can you be so callous?" cried the elfling-watcher. "He is our prince. The forest would break without him; we would die of broken hearts to lose such a bright little spirit."

And so the talk went, until finally, all (or most) were able to agree that help needed to be sought. They then sent a message to the trees at the farthest end of the clearing with the plea to send it on to wherever the king was. The trees acquiesced with a swiftness that showed just how much the forest loved the little elfling, and after finding out where the king was located, the message was passed on with all urgency.

As Galion knelt beside his steed at the river's edge to scoop up some water in his waterskin, the trees nearest the water's edge began rustling and whispering loudly. Though wood elves had a deep connection with the forest and trees, it was difficult to converse with them unless they had a physical connection as well, like a hand touching the tree trunk. Therefore, Galion could not quite make out what they were whispering. Only the royals, Thranduil and the little prince, had the ability to hear and speak to them without touching them. He placed his waterskin back on his belt, and giving a sharp command to his horse to stay there, walked swiftly over to the nearest tree, placing the palm of his hand against it. It was a scant few seconds later that he jerked his hand back from the rough bark of the tree, his face pale and his hands trembling. Barely remembering to thank the tree, he grabbed his horse's reins and sprinted towards where the other elves were gathered for their break, pulling his horse at a run behind him.

"My Lord!" he shouted as he burst into the clearing. "The trees seek aid for Legolas. They are willing to lead us to him!"

The blonde-haired king turned slowly from where he was adjusting his pack on his horse, looking at Galion with unreadable eyes, his face a carefully cloaked mask. "And how do we know this is not simply a trick of the trees to lead us further away from Legolas?" he asked with a note of disdain in his voice. "Likely the child has sweet-talked them into covering for him."

Galion gritted his teeth together in frustration. "My Lord…saes…we cannot take the chance. They say he is hurt—sick or injured—and they fear for his life."

A dark look spread across the king's stern features. "So he has gotten himself injured as well? There seems to be no end to the measures he will take to avoid punishment." He mounted his horse in one swift movement. "Come, we ride, then. Let us find out if the trees speak the truth or not." There was an angry rustling of the trees around them at this statement, and Galion swallowed tightly as he wondered just what was wrong with the king. Not only did he seem to have no natural affection for his beloved elfling any longer, but it appeared that he also could not converse with the trees any more. This was unheard of in any wood elf, much less the wise and gifted king of the Woodland Realm. Perhaps he had sunk into a deeper state of grief than they had realized. That would explain his inability to hear the trees any longer.

They rode for over an hour, the trees whispering worried directions to Galion each time he stopped to lay a hand on one and converse with it. Thranduil kept silent throughout the entire ride, his features growing darker as each moment passed. Galion could see the warriors exchange worried glances as the king's ire grew more obvious. All cared deeply about the little prince, though most had avoided him since the queen's death simply out of grief. Finally, the entourage rode into a small clearing where a giant oak sat watching over the small enclosure. It was this oak that the trees had led Galion to and, without any hesitation, he stopped his horse and dismounted, walking swiftly over to the tree and laying his hand against the trunk as his keen eyes peered up through the branches. The giant tree waved its branches happily to see the other elves here, and it spread the branches that were surrounding the tiny elf to allow them to see him. Galion gasped in sheer relief and worry as he got his first glimpse of the elfling. Legolas was curled up against the tree trunk, his eyes closed in a too pale face and shivering violently. His little stuffed horse was clasped tightly against his chest and tiny nose, one little hand clenched into a tight ball in the horse's mane.

Galion turned back to look at the king, who had just dismounted and now stood right behind him. "My Lord…" the faithful aide whispered.

Thranduil looked up into the tree branches, immediately spotting his elfling. A look of worry entered the deep, blue eyes as he simply watched for a long moment. He turned back to Galion. "I will go and fetch him," he said in a firm voice that brooked no argument.

Galion frowned slightly. "I do not think he is well, my Lord," he suggested, hoping to stay the king's anger if he intended to punish the child.

Thranduil's eyes darkened and he turned away without a word, swiftly climbing the tree and perching on the branch beside the sleeping elfling. He ran adept hands over the small body, searching for any sign of injury or broken bones. Finding none, his expression grew grim and he laid a hand on the child's shoulder. The king did not want to startle the elfling, no matter how angry he might be at him. The child was merely a babe, and did not deserve to be woken up harshly. He shook the slim shoulder gently. "Legolas." He called softly, letting his voice grow louder at each turn that the child remained asleep. "Legolas!" he called once more, shaking the shoulder a little harder. This time there was success as the elfling groaned weakly, then cried out as the achiness in his bones and skin came rushing back, along with the biting cold he felt. Opening bleary eyes, he blinked up at his watching father.

"A-Ada?" he said in shock. "W-what are you doing here?"

Thranduil's small thread on his temper snapped at the child's surprise. "What do you think I am doing, ion nin? It is not as though I have anything better to do than go traipsing after miscreant and disobedient elflings." His voice had a distinct warning edge to it that the child immediately recognized. Another violent shiver ran through his body as tears sprang unbidden to his eyes and he lowered his head.

"I-I am sorry, Ada," he whispered. "I only wanted to make you happy…" the small voice trailed off as a tear trickled down the pale cheek. Thranduil was forced to bite his lip against the pitiful sight, despite his obvious anger.

"We will discuss it later…at the same time I give you your punishment for running away," Thranduil snapped, forcing himself to remain firm. "Now, we are going home." He reached over and gathered the elfling and blanket into his arms, making sure to grab the small pack beside him. The horse had not once left the child's tight grip, so he had no need to grab the stuffed animal. 'Though it would serve him right if it were left out here!' he thought irritably as he clutched the elfling tightly in strong and able arms and began his descent.

Legolas flinched at the sudden grip and movement, his small body feeling like it was on fire and his father's hands only exacerbating the feeling. When the pain subsided to a dull roar, he turned huge, sad blue eyes up to his father. "Are you going to h-hit me again, Ada?" he whispered sadly as a tiny hand latched onto the king's tunic.

Thranduil looked down at his elfling, his anger slipping just the tiniest bit as he looked into the huge, sad eyes. "What do you think, child? You know how very serious of an offense you have committed. Of course you must be suitably punished."

Legolas drew a sharp breath in. Ada was going to hit him again! For a moment, when he had first opened his eyes and saw his father, he had felt happy, thinking that perhaps his father truly loved him after all, since he had bothered to look for him. Now, as he looked up at his father's angry features, he began to realize that his Ada had simply come after him to punish him for Naneth's death. The child was so focused on his mother's death that he did not realize that the king merely wanted to punish him for running away and worrying him, not for his mother's death. Closing his eyes tightly against more threatening tears, the child leaned into his father's warm shoulder, anxious for a tiny bit of comfort. His throat felt funny, and it felt strange when he breathed. 'I wish Ada loved me,' he thought unhappily as he lay still against his father, trying not to anger him anymore by moving.

Thranduil reached the ground and nodded to Galion, who reached a hand out to start fussing over the child. "Nay, my friend," he ordered. "I will not have bad behavior be rewarded. He rides with me, and we ride now." Galion snatched his hand back, sighing inwardly at the king's attitude. Couldn't he see for himself the pitiful state of the elfling? Galion could easily see the child shivering, and tear tracks were on the too-pale face. He tried to catch the elfling's eye to give him a smile of encouragement, but his eyes were tightly closed. Shoulders slumping, the aide mounted his horse yet again and prepared to follow his king home, praying to Elbereth that Thranduil would see reason before they got back to the castle, for he feared for the child's fea.

Legolas tried to stay as still as possible in his father's arms as they rode back to the palace, but his chest was getting achy and the cold was becoming sheer torture. Thranduil was silent and cold towards his little elfling, determined to teach him that it wasn't okay to run away. When Legolas squirmed around a little trying to get the achiness out of his chest, the elder elf snapped a harsh command for him to stop. The child whimpered, then started coughing violently, his chest heaving with each fluid-filled cough as he tried to get enough air in to breath. Thranduil started at the sudden sound, unused to hearing anyone cough, since elves rarely got sick. His eyes widened as he looked down at the tiny bundle in his arms, realizing with sudden shock that his elfling was apparently sick. Father senses instantly kicking in despite the sabbatical he had taken from the job, he grabbed his elfling up and placed him against his shoulder, patting him on the back, then rubbing soothing circles on the thin back. Legolas was finally able to stop coughing after a minute of Thranduil's ministrations, and he lay there wheezing pitifully as silent tears flowed out of his eyes. From Legolas' perch on the king's shoulder, he could see Galion riding right behind his father, with the other warriors right behind him. They all had dismayed expressions on their fair, elven faces, though Galion quickly changed his to a bright smile when he saw the elfling looking at him. He even waved to him!

'Galion must not hate me…' thought the little elfling in wonder. 'He acts like he still likes me, even though he had to come after me, too.' He managed a tiny smile for his beloved friend who had spent many hundreds of hours caring for the little elf since he was a baby. He wanted to wave back, but one hand was still tightly latched onto Snowflake, while the other was squashed against Ada's chest, and he didn't want to risk moving again and disturbing Ada. His blue eyes shone with innocence as he continued to look at Galion, causing the elder elf's heart to lurch almost painfully.

'Valar,' thought the aide miserably, 'the child does not deserve so much unhappiness. He is such a beautiful elfling!' Before he could wave again, Thranduil pulled the child back down to hold him safely in his arms as he rode. Brushing a slender hand against Legolas' forehead, he frowned at the heat he felt, realizing the child was fevered as well. He pulled him against his chest, covering him tightly in the small blanket and wrapping the ends of his cloak around him for extra warmth. If the king pressed the tiny blonde head a little closer to his chest this time, no one was to know. He was worried about his elfling, especially now that he knew he was sick. Elves did not get sick, though elflings sometimes did if they were fading or faring poorly in some way. The grieved father was beginning to feel a little guilty that his child was faring badly enough to get sick. He doubted that he would be winning any 'father of the year' awards for this. He sighed as he thought back over the past few days and weeks since his wife had died. He had not been very attentive to the child, he knew, and he also knew that he had made a big mistake in hitting the child, despite his anger sometimes taking over and trying to tell him differently. He was slowly beginning to realize that it was possible that he wasn't handling his grief as well as he'd first thought. Perhaps the façade he put on for everyone was only making it worse, or perhaps he needed to hide his feelings even more. Whatever the answer was, he knew he needed help, and he decided to send for Elrond when they got back to the castle. Perhaps he could help his little elfling as well, if Legolas was still faring poorly by the time his friend arrived.

With that decision made, the weary king focused on his elfling, who was lying perfectly still and looking up at him with huge, innocent eyes, eyes that had a touch of wistfulness and sadness in them. Thranduil managed a slight smile at the little child, causing the huge eyes to light up and shine so brightly that the elder elf nearly lost his breath. He reached a finger up and touched the little nose, bringing a hesitant giggle to the tiny lips. He could not help but smile even broader at the tinkling sound of music, and he found himself wondering just why he had been so angry with the little elf. Guiding his horse with his knees, he continued to keep both hands focused on the child in one way or another—holding him or playing with him—the entire way back, trying to distract the child from his sickness. Legolas had two more coughing fits during the journey, but the king was able to stem them quickly by using the same methods as last time. He could feel the fever growing through the thin tunic and blanket, however, and the child could not stop shivering. He knew Legolas needed help, and quickly.

When they arrived at the stronghold, the head healer came running out. He took one look at the pale, shivering elfling, and after gaining quick permission from the king, scooped the child up in his arms and headed for the Healing Ward, the king swiftly dismounting and following after him with a careless and hurried step. When he got to the room sectioned off for royalty, however, the healer forced him to wait outside while he examined the child. The king paced restlessly back and forth on the stone floor for half an hour before the healer finally came out, a grim look on his face. Thranduil stopped in mid-pace and looked at him fearfully. "How is he?" he asked in an abnormally shaky voice.

The healer sighed. "He is fading, my Lord, and he has taken ill. It is a very serious disease that has gotten into the lungs. I know not of many men or elves that have survived such a strong disease. I cannot lie to you."

Thranduil staggered and leaned against the wall for support, his heart in disbelief over the healer's words. He had done this! He had caused his elfling to fade and made him vulnerable to getting sick! Now his only child was going to die…A soft sob escaped from the strong king as he covered his face with one slender hand. "Nay…" he gasped. Quickly composing himself, he wiped his hand over his face and turned back to the sorrowful healer. "What can be done?"

The healer shook his head. "I have done all that is possible. I doubt Lord Elrond himself could help him any more than this. There is a small chance…if you could manage to pull him out of fading…it might give him the strength needed to fight his illness."

The blonde king's ears perked up at this. "I will try anything…anything at all! Just tell me how to go about this."

The healer clasped his hands together, his eyes uneasy. "I am not quite certain myself, my Lord, except that if you shower the child in love and attention, it might make him feel needed and loosen the claws that the fading has on him."

Thranduil's eyes brightened. "Then that is what I shall do…starting now!" With that, he marched into the healing room, leaving a gaping healer in his wake at the king's abrupt departure.

The king was true to his word. He spent the next several days never leaving the child's side. He helped to feed him, bathe him, and comfort him through his coughing fits. He read him story after countless story, pulling from the stock of the child's old favorites, slightly surprised that he could still remember them. He rocked him to sleep every time the child grew sleepy, and he even snuck him a few special treats to eat when the healer wasn't looking. The little elfling's serious illness had awoken the king from his grief like nothing else had managed to do in the weeks since his wife's death. It caused him to realize what had been in front of him all this time—something so dear that had the power to bring him back from his own brink of fading, something he feared to lose almost more than his beloved wife—his little elfling…his ion.

One morning the elfling woke up and looked immediately over at his father who was sleeping in the nearby chair, heaving a sigh of relief when he saw him in the same spot as he'd been for the past several days. He'd dreamed that Ada had been mad at him again and didn't want him, and he had feared it to be true for half a second when he awoke. Ada was still here though, and even such a young child as the little elfling could see that his Ada cared about him. 'Ada does still love me,' he thought in wonder. 'Maybe he won't hit me again, and maybe we can be a family again.'

Thranduil woke up to find assessing blue eyes peering at him almost unnervingly. He smiled cheerfully at the child, determined to break the fading's grip. Moving to sit down beside him on the bed, he scooped the child up in a gentle embrace. "Good morning, ion nin," he said softly. "What would you like to do today? Read another story or play a game?"

Blue eyes watched him unblinkingly. "Ada? Would it be all right if we just talk?" came the hesitant reply. Thranduil looked startled, and a faint trace of worry entered his deep blue eyes.

"Of course, little one," he said as he cupped the small face in one hand.

"Ada? Are you still mad at me for killing Nana?" The little elf twisted his hands together in the covers.

Thranduil's mouth dropped open in shock. "Killing Nana…Legolas! How could you ever think such a thing, child? You didn't kill Nana!"

The huge eyes blinked at him. "But…you were so mad at me all the time…ever since Nana died…"

Thranduil lowered his head for a moment trying to gather his emotions. Ai, how he had wronged his child! He drew the child closer in his arms and laid a gentle kiss on the golden head. "Ai, penneth, I am sorry!" he sighed aggrievedly. "I was sad about Nana dying, yes, but I never once thought you had done this. It was not your fault, Legolas! Ada was just thinking sad thoughts about Nana, and I took my anger out on you. I am so very sorry!" He drew back a little and looked the elfling in the eyes, keeping a firm hold on the quivering chin as Legolas struggled not to cry. "There is something else I must apologize for, ion nin." He said firmly.

"W-what is it, Ada?" asked the little elf with wonder in his voice. He was getting so much attention from his Ada! He thought perhaps he might be dreaming…

"I need to apologize for hitting you the other day. It wasn't very fair of me, and you had not done anything to deserve it."

Legolas gaped at him for a long moment, a moment in which the worried king began to fear the child would not forgive him. Then, he threw his arms around Thranduil's neck, burying his small head in the elder elf's neck and beginning to sob. Worried at his elfling's strange reaction, Thranduil clasped him tightly to him for several minutes, whispering soothing words and patting his back. Then, he pulled back and held the thin shoulders, looking his little son in his moisture-filled eyes. "What is it, penneth? Why does this make you cry?"

Legolas sniffled, leaning his head over and rubbing a teary cheek on his shoulder to dry it. "I-I…thought…I thought you didn't…love me anymore, Ada…" he sobbed, tears still flowing down his cheeks too rapidly for him to wipe them away.

Thranduil paled, his eyes widening in shock as he looked at his little son. "Ai…Legolas…forgive me…" he breathed as a tear slipped from his own eye. "I promise, little one. I will try harder, and things will get better. You will see." He gripped the tiny elfling to his chest so fiercely that he started coughing again, and the king was forced to loosen his grip and help him through another bad spell.

"A-Ada…" Legolas gasped when he was able to regain his breath, "does this mean we can do things together again…like we used to…before Naneth…?"

Thranduil closed his eyes against the soft, fuzzy blonde head, breathing in his elfling's scent and wondering vaguely how he'd drifted so far away. "Yes, child. We will do many things together, starting with having a bedtime story every night again like we used to." Legolas grinned up at him joyfully, and Thranduil noted with pleasure that his son was regaining some color in his cheeks. When the healer came in to check him later, his face lit up in happiness at the elfling's improved state.

"You are going to be fine, little one, just fine!" he said happily, meeting the king's eyes. Thranduil smiled the first truly happy smile he'd had since his wife passed away, relishing in the sight of his happy little elfling getting better. He realized then that he was getting better as well! He was finding true joy in spending time with his little son, and he did not even feel the need to summon Elrond any longer to help him heal from his grief. In fact—he turned a brighter face to the open windows—he could hear the whispering of the trees again, something he had not been able to do for weeks! He turned back to his little child, who was blinking sleepily at him, his eyes continually trying to drift shut as he tried desperately to stay awake. Smiling gently down at the sleepy little elfling, the king curled up beside him, enveloping him in strong arms against his chest. As they drifted off into a peaceful slumber together, the healer slipped quietly out of the room, anxious to send a missive to Elrond to let him know he no longer needed to rush to Mirkwood. The royals were going to be just fine, all thanks to the little elfling running away and getting sick!


End file.
